Left Behind
by skinlizard
Summary: A hunter, gravely injured. A survivor, abandoned by her only friends. When the two meet, a highly volatile and unstable relationship begins. Chapters will be relatively short because I suck ass at continuity.
1. Stalk

I had nearly forgotten the sound of death, the screaming and choking and - finally - the low, gurgling silence.

The writhing figure beneath me soon stilled, kicking occasionally, and I growled, rolling from the corpse to stand and view my handiwork. The uninfected thing was a mess of raw muscle, skinned from the elbows down and nearly decapitated, chest collapsed into a pit of gore. It had been days since I'd made a kill, especially one that wasn't a brother or sister, and I was growing restless. These claws needed to fight and tear muscle, these teeth needed to twist and pull skin from flesh in bloody curtains. I was itching for the blood, and one wasn't enough.

Ears hungry for signs of life, I began to walk again.

I had realized days ago that I should have stayed in the city. The forest was calm, too calm, and while there was the occasional animal unlucky enough to find itself in my grasp, there wasn't the same sense of urgency and frenzy that permeated the streets of the city. The only human I'd seen had died way too quickly, and now lay mutilated behind me. That stone-cold bloodlust that drove me had begun to fade and I'd become complacent, almost tired, a feeling I hadn't had since...

I couldn't quite remember. Part of me knew there'd been a time, been a place, when it hadn't all been _this_, but hard as I tried I couldn't remember anything other than waking up screaming, driven to kill. How long had I been alive? I didn't know, and I didn't care. My instincts and I were all that mattered now. That, and killing.

I walked for hours, losing myself in the game of identifying sounds, spotting animals, finding brothers and sisters. My siblings were a riot to chase, to catch, but not to kill. I hardly enjoyed killing them anymore, so I left them in groaning heaps on the ground, incapacitated. The joy of bothering them was enough to keep me from going insane in these godforsaken woods. At least for now.

Finally, as the sun rose, I came across a long and winding road. I knew that one direction would lead me back to the city, and the other, well, who knew. But as for now, I would need to take shelter. I began to search.

What woke me was an extremely unpleasant noise, and one I preferred to hear at a further distance - gunfire.

Jolting up, I slammed my head off the metal belly of the truck I'd taken shelter under, then rolled out into the street, groaning. Again, a shot sounded. Not as close as I'd originally thought. Approaching, though. I clambered to my feet and peered over the hood of the truck, squinting into the afternoon sun.

There seemed to be a small number of my siblings - crawling from the cars they'd been laying in - stumbling toward tight cluster of figures, maybe thirty or forty yards down the road. Another shot, and a sister collapsed with a high wail. I barely cringed at the sight. These mongrels were too stupid to fight like I did, and they got what they deserved.

Either way, I was excited to finally see some real action. I hadn't seen many survivors in the last few weeks, and most of them had been stragglers - loners left behind by their groups, too weak and helpless to make it to evac sites on their own. But here was a group of maybe five or six, and functioning well. They stood back to back, an effective system going between them where two would shoot while the others reloaded, and so on. Soon, my brothers and sisters were picked off.

I licked my lips and crawled back under the truck, watching quietly. When they ventured close enough, I'd take out the pretty little blonde one who stood, shaking, with his arms around an axe. Obviously the weakest link. He was young, maybe 12, and absolutely terrified. Probably herded around by the rest of the group like a lost sheep. Besides, he had no ranged weapon. An axe? Easy prey.

They bided their time, scavenging through the pockets and clothes of my slain siblings, taking what they could. Shoes, strings, pocket knives, lighters, even rings and bracelets were lifted and tucked away into one of their many backpacks, bulging with looted goods. I had no doubt they'd come from the same direction I had, where the stores were still full.

Eventually they started off again. As they passed, I listened carefully, watched carefully, and waited.

"If we can just make it to Detroit, there's bound to be an evac site." said a young woman, voice rough. Her shoes, torn-up flats, scuffed the pavement as she walked.

"You think too big, hun." said another. This one was older, male, possibly fifty or sixty. "Next city for now, alright? Andrew needs to rest for a while."

"Thanks pa." muttered the kid.

"Your damn kid needs to rest all the time. He's almost as bad as Aponi."

The footsteps stopped. "Carol, you shut your fucking mouth."

"Whatever."

They resumed again.

The other two survivors, tall and dark-skinned, said nothing, though they walked hand-in-hand and stayed close together. They looked formidable at least, each clutching a shotgun in their free hand.

Finally, they passed. I waited until they were a few cars ahead, then crawled into the daylight and crept forward.

I growled and leapt.


	2. Battle

They heard me before I even reached them.

Pivoting, the older man swung out his rifle and shot without aiming. The bullet barely caught me but it was enough to make me twist mid-air and come to a crashing roll on the street, snarling.

"Hunter!" shouted the woman, who pulled out a handgun. I recognized the stance she was taking, too professional for a regular citizen, and decided this fight would be best fought from cover. Turning, I skidded behind another car.

"Andrew, get behind us!"

Damn, I wanted that kid bad. Imagine the screams of fear he'd make…

My attention snapped back to the real world as another shot bounced off the side of the car. I stayed low, breathing heavily, taking note of the crunch of gravel as they approached.

"Donna, Kamillah, you two go around the right. I'll take this end." muttered the woman, and I wrinkled my nose at the sound. I wouldn't be trapped that easily. I closed my eyes, listening carefully to their approach. I thought back to the city - the running, the chasing, the foolish and reckless fighting that followed the early days of the infection. I willed my muscles to remember.

Tensing, I waited until they neared the ends of the car.

Then jumped, arcing backward, almost giddy with excitement and joy. Shots sounded, and I slammed onto the hood of the car and rolled off, now between the three women and the father-son duo.

The old man raised his gun again but he was too slow, too weak, and I took him out at the knees, knocking the weapon from his hand. The boy wailed, too terrified to move, and fell backwards onto his ass, dropping his oversized crossbow. I sneered. Useless. Watch this, kid.

My claws scored canyons into the old man's chest and he began to shriek like a stuck pig, thrashing beneath me. I nearly laughed. This was what it was all about.

A shot, cracking into the pavement on my left. I'd nearly forgotten about the women behind me.

Digging my claws into the man's throat, I held him down and turned to face the advancing trio. The white woman, Carol, was in her stance - arms straight and stiff, one hand grasping the gun-hand's wrist, knees bent as she moved forward. I gave a warning yell, but she pulled the trigger.

I jumped, but not soon enough. The bullet blasted through my shoulder, turning my vision white and red, and I yelped, tumbling off the side of the road and into the ditch. Gasping, I pushed myself to my feet with my good arm and stumbled into the trees.

Hidden for merely seconds, I assessed the damage. Grave. The bullet had not come out the other side, and each time my left arm moved even a fraction the pain nearly sent me into oblivion.

"Shoot it in the fucking head!" called Carol, and the kid began to weep loudly. I grit my teeth, pushing further into the undergrowth.

Donna and Kamillah, the tall and dangerous-looking ones, burst into the forest behind me.

"There." grunted one, and the other raised her shotgun and fired in one swift movement. The shot had been poorly aimed, and splintered the bark of a tree just inches in front of me. Snarling, I spun, slamming into the first with my good arm extending, catching her under the right breast, deep into the ribs. She howled, collapsed, and the second fired again. I dodged just in time.

"You goddamn _animal!_" screeched the second, but she stepped back, scrambling to reload.

I might not die after all.

I gave the one pinned below me a last gouge in the stomach, and went for the second.

We fought tooth and nail, and only after I sank my teeth into her throat and wrenched, pulling the skin and tendons away in a bloody sheet, did she stop struggling.

The first, groaning and sobbing behind me, crawled for her gun, but I kicked it away and pushed her back to the ground before she could reach it.

Heaving for air, I sank to my knees.

The crackle of dead leaves behind me. I turned.

Carol, crossbow looking oddly fitting in her grip, stared at me down the sights.

"Fuck you." she spat, and fired.


	3. Aponi

Aponi hadn't felt this alone since the beginning of the end.

Sobbing, she clutched her handgun tight to her chest, imagining it as an anchor in this chaotic sea of terror. Here, right here in her hands, she had a weapon. At least she had that. At least she had…

She had forgotten what the hell it was called. A Loser? A Luger? A new torrent of tears poured down her cheeks. God, she felt stupid. Stupid and useless and about to be dead.

When the others had left her they'd simply packed up and let her sleep away their departure. Now she was stuck under this godforsaken bridge, crying nonstop, berating herself for having been so blind. Of course they were going to leave her. They'd hated her. She was sickly, anemic and nearly weightless despite how much she ate, and constantly begged to stop and rest. Only Dave had been kind to her, and even then she felt it was only because he had his son to look out for as well. Not even Andrew needed to stop as often as she did. And now look where that had gotten her.

Her weeping came to a hiccupping stop, and she forced herself to breathe slowly through her nose. No. She may be physically weak, but she'd fought through tough times before. Never again would she be mentally weak, never again would she let herself fall into that hole. Her recovery had brought her so far, and she couldn't allow all of it to be for nothing. Not because of the stupid apocalypse.

The thought brought up a jittery laugh. Yeah. Not even the apocalypse would stop her from getting better.

She stood, shaking, and checked her pack. At the very least they'd left her with some supplies - a scattering of shells, a few medical packs, some canned goods, even a bottle of mosquito repellant. She guessed they knew she'd try to follow them through the woods. Wandering around the underside of the bridge, she picked up a few shoelaces and an empty water bottle. She'd always been good at hoarding "unnecessary" items, and now look who'd been right all along? _I'll need this someday, _she'd always said, and oftentimes she was telling the truth.

Now, the hardest part; leaving.

She sat down to think for a while, part of her knowing that every minute she spent here the group was drawing further and further away, but another part of her was starting to not give a shit at all. Besides, they'd left her. Who said they'd take her back, even if she could prove her worth by catching up to them? She might as well accept that she was going to be alone for a long time, unless she miraculously stumbled upon some other survivors. She'd heard of a group forming, further south…

Again she stood, shaking much less now, and picked up her pack.

Yeah, she could do this.

Maybe.

* * *

It took her nearly an entire day to walk what the group (minus her) would have walked in only four or five hours. She followed the road, her only source of direction, taking frequent rests. Only once did she have to use her handgun, against some rotting creature that tried to grab her from under a car, but other than that her journey seemed oddly quiet. Perhaps the group had taken out most of the straggling infected.

Her thoughts ran wild with possibilities.

Perhaps they'd already made it to the next city - maybe it wasn't as far as it looked on the map. Maybe they'd reached the evac site and had already left, leaving her to the dead. The very thought threatened to bring on tears again, but she bit them back. Never again would they make her cry.

And they had, every day. A constant barrage of curses, put-downs, sneering jokes shared between cupped hands. Why was she so slow? Why did she tremble all the time? Why was she so _weak?_

Aponi's shoulders sagged at the memories. She'd had a terrible time with them. But before that…

She didn't want to remember.

Before finding the other's, her world had been a nightmare and a one-way trip to the grave. Every day, every minute, every second; a battle for survival. Her parents, dead. Her best friends, slaughtered like animals. Her brother, infected right before her eyes.

She paused to swallow bile.

And heard a noise. Very soft, very weak, but definitely there.

Sobbing.

A witch? _God, no_. Her heart leapt into her throat, pulsing there, pushing the bile back up again. She'd seen them in action, seen the way they butchered those who were careless enough to get in their way. Michael had been the leader of the group, reckless and loud, until they'd encountered one. Now, well, he was putrefying at the bottom of the canal.

Crouching, she licked her lips and stared worryingly into the setting sun, nervous that she'd be unable to pass the witch before night fell and would have to use her flashlight. Or stumble alone in the dark.

Another wail, but this time followed by something much more chilling;

"_Please god, please help me!_"

Aponi froze, reaching into her sweatshirt pocket to find the bone knife there, a present from her nonna, the wisewoman of her family. Imagining the bone's strength filling her heart and head, clearing her eyes, she crept toward the sound.

"_Please, please…_" sounded the voice, before it devolved again into a terrible caterwauling, broken and edged with an awful coarseness, as though the speaker were choking on something.

Aponi paused again. It sounded like, like….

"Donna?" she called softly.

The response was an immediate wail. "_Oh please, god, Carol, is that you? Please, help, please, anyone. I'm here, over here._"

Aponi jumped into action, sliding down the ditch into the quickly darkening woods and pushing into the trees, hood drawn and eyes wide. Not ten meters in she found Donna, crumpled in a twisted heap.

At least, what was left of her.

Her throat, god, her throat. Torn open, the fissure travelling down into her chest, as though someone had taken a skinning knife to her, the flesh glittering wetly in the remaining sun. She lay on her side, knees pulled to her chest, arms clutching handfuls of the grass and dead leaves that littered the forest floor.  
"Donna! Oh my god, Donna!" Aponi cried, falling at the wounded girl's side. Her knees slid in blood but she didn't care, didn't care that Donna had abandoned her not a night before, didn't care now because poor Donna didn't look like she was going to last the next five minutes and god, she didn't want to see someone die again. Not after Michael. Not after her friends and family.

"Of course it's fucking Aponi," Donna laughed weakly, "look at you. Amazing. I didn't want to leave you, you know. I should have fucking-" She burst into a series of body-wracking coughs.

"Shut up. Let me see your neck. I've got extra packs…"

Aponi shrugged her bag from her shoulders and quickly yanked everything out to reach the med packs at the bottom. Yanking out the antiseptic, she made for Donna's wounds.

"Don't, just fucking kill me. Kill me. I'll turn. Please, god, Aponi."

"No, no, I can save you, okay? Listen, you'll be fine. It's not even that bad. Your jugular is fine, your windpipe is alright, you'll be okay-"

Donna's hand slapped hers away. "Kill me. Kill me and then kill it."

Aponi fell silent. "Kill it? Kill what?"

"The fucking Hunter behind you."

Aponi turned.


	4. Let Live or Let Die

She screamed, but the only response was a dead silence, and then Donna muttering under her breath.

"Just hurry up, Aponi, kill us."

The hunter, a bloody form that lay still against the ground, hardly moved. She watched as it shifted slightly, the rolled onto its back.

"What the hell?" she squeaked, turning back to Donna and snatching her pistol from the ground. "What the _hell_?!"

"Calm down, it's practically dead. Just shoot it. Then shoot me."

She stood, knees quaking, and made her way over to the creature. It had been done in by Andrew's goofy oversized crossbow, and by the look of it several arrows had gone straight through and were pinning the thing to the ground. Two in the leg, one just below the ribs, and one in its mangled shoulder. Why not a killing blow?

It looked at her again, groaned, and shut its eyes.

Maybe they'd hoped it would finish off Donna.

Aponi again felt the well of tears stinging her cheeks, and she threw up then, stumbling a few feet away to retch into the weeds. Hot vomit clung to her lips and she began to sob.

She couldn't do this. She could barely kill an infected, let alone Donna. Poor Donna, who didn't deserve a death like this. Torn open, waiting quietly for the end. The agonizing pain that must be coursing throughout her body and mind seemed almost unimaginable. Crying openly now, she wrought her hands.

"I can't, Donna. I can't do this. Not you, please don't make me."

"Do it, kid. Christ, you're such a coward. Give me the gun."

Aponi clutched her hands as though to pray and placed her head in the grass, rocking. "No, Donna, you're gonna make it…"

They stayed like that for hours, Donna wheezing softly and cursing occasionally, Aponi rocking and deliberating. Did it make her a murderer? She'd only killed a single infected since the beginning of the end, and even that, she knew in her heart, had been murder. But if a person was begging for death, was it murder to supply them with the means? Was it _wrong_? She couldn't imagine doing the deed herself, couldn't imagine how she would manage to hold her arm still, couldn't imagine the sound and the sight and the blood, the blood that would pulse and funnel from Donna's body like a river with its dam broken…. Finally, long after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the stars rose, oddly bright, Aponi made her decision.

She gave Donna the gun.

She left the site for a while, taking only her flashlight and her tears, and stood in the middle of the forgotten highway, watching the stars. Nearly an hour passed, spent singing old songs in the glow of the moon, before she heard the shot. She wept at the sound, but knew that Donna would never again be in pain. The thought had tempted her more than once.

Dragging herself from the moonlight, she pushed through the trees once more and, try as she might to avoid it, saw Donna for the last time.

Her corpse seemed to warp in the flashlight's glow, and Aponi vomited again. This time though there was nothing left to throw up and she was left, gagging and coughing, in the darkness with Donna's fist clenched tight around her pistol.

Eventually she worked up the courage to pry the gun from Donna's stiffening grasp, and sat down hard against the tree opposite the clearing, placing the dying hunter between her and the body. Next she knew she'd have to put it down. With her own hands. But first, just a minute, a second of peace and quiet.

She lay her head in her knees and fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

A high-pitched whine, long and wavering, cut through the darkness and pulled Aponi from her dreams of screaming and death.

_What the hell_? She woke with a start, feet scuffing in the dirt, before she stilled and listened, heart drumming in her ears. Again the whine sounded, and ended in a low growl. A hunter's growl. Aponi automatically went for the pistol, scooping it from the dirt and aiming it into the darkness ahead of her. Then she remembered.

The hunter, of course.

How was it still alive? Had it gotten loose? Holding her breath, she waited for any signs of movement, and when none came she carefully reached into her pack to pull out the flashlight.

She shone it on the hunter.

It had rolled onto its side, face buried in the grass, and lay motionless, whining loudly. A pang of guilt ran through her - she should have killed it earlier instead of making it wait for death in this state. Standing slowly, she licked her lips and walked over to it.

It didn't look much better than Donna did right now. Skin gray and coated in blood and dirt, navy hoodie torn and crusted - it looked more undead than infected. She noticed with a chill that it still had one eye, though the other had been clawed out in a fit of madness. The single eye met hers, the slid closed. It sighed loudly.

"Sorry, buddy," she said quietly, dropping to her knees. "You must hurt a lot. I'm going to help you sleep now, okay? Alright?"  
It blinked at her, bared its teeth, and growled.

She backed away, uncertain how much energy it still had in that ravaged body. Maybe it was waiting for the perfect time to strike. Or maybe it wasn't and she should just kill the damn thing.

If she could muster the strength to, of course.

It took her a long time to even raise the gun, and longer to begin to consider pulling the trigger. By then her arms ached and her forehead was streaked with sweat and the sun had begun to rise, illuminating her target. She felt almost bad. She could see clearly now how human it had once been - the disheveled hair, the single blue eye, the college sweater. It looked at her sadly now and then, as if it knew it were going to die.

In the end she lowered her pistol and bit back tears. "I'm sorry." she said, though she knew it couldn't understand, "I can't do it. I can do this, though."

She carefully took the end of the arrow imbedded in its chest and yanked, drawing an angry yelp and snarl from the hunter. It didn't move to attack her though, and watched nervously as she took the second and pulled. Again, it hissed, this time throwing out a weak arm and barely catching her with it, eyes flickering to the third stuck through its leg. Aponi noted that she'd been right - the arrow went straight through the calf and was buried a good inch into the dirt. She'd have to break this one, then lift the leg and pull it out from the other side…

Wait, hold up.

She pushed herself to her feet, backing away from the creature huddled on the ground. What was she thinking? What if it _didn't_ die? What if it really wasn't that injured and when she pulled out the final arrow it attacked and killed her? It was already showing signs of aggression - growling and beginning to twist about on the ground, as though it anticipated its release. She remembered her pistol, on the ground by the hunter, and returned to snatch it up.

She returned to the tree, sat down, and began to think.


	5. Waking

**I'm sorry, I've been in the hospital lately. Updates will probably slow down. This chapter might not make much sense because I was hopped up on some meds :c Sorry!**

* * *

I was hardly conscious of what was happening at this point, I was so tense with fear and anger that the world seemed to go red and black and blue, a swirling myriad of colours. I was only aware of one thing. The pain. It ravaged my entire body, spiking at my chest and shoulder, travelling down to my pinned leg. I knew the girl was there - I could hear her heavy breathing - but I wasn't sure what she was doing. I couldn't see anything but the thundering pain.  
I fell into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

When I woke the sun had risen and its light poured in from the treetops, blurring my vision. I was hardly awake, more so open-eyed yet sleeping, but I took a minute to let my senses come back to me. The pain, now a massive and dull ache that pulsed throughout my body, had at least subsided for now. The fear, well, it had turned into something of an odd, curious feeling, as though I were outside my body, watching in suspense. I'd had it before - I remembered it vaguely, from nights not long ago spent hissing and weeping in pain as the mutation took hold of me.

Now, I allowed my vision to focus. I saw grass, coated with rust-coloured blood, and leaves full of squirming maggots. Further afield lay a corpse, at least a day fresh, and the smell came welcome to my nostrils, filling my head with the faint beginnings of that good old bloodlust. I groaned, rolling onto my back.

My leg.

It had been freed, unpinned, and the arrow lay a few feet away, tossed there by my unlikely saviour. I snorted. Saviour or meat? At this point - I sniffed - more like meat. She'd been injured or the like. The subtle smell of foreign, fresh blood tainted the air.

I rolled again, this time struggling to a wavering crouch, and tested the damage. My leg was shaky, barely useable, and the gunshot to my shoulder forced me to hold my right arm close to my stomach so as not to pull on the wounded muscles. The hole under my ribs was a lucky shot, it had only snagged the skin along my side and the arrow had been easily removed.

I deemed myself unfit to travel for a couple days, and resigned myself to a pitiful two-day existence in this clearing.

I set about organizing myself first. I had plenty of food (Donna, as I recalled her name) and plenty of protection (myself and my teeth, as I liked to think). I had no water, no shelter, and maybe half an idea of what to do. The girl must have been a good mile or so away by now, presuming she'd left at sunrise - so no danger there. The other infected posed a moderate threat, though I doubted there remained very many in these parts. Still, I'd hate to see their unquenchable thirst for blood directed at me.

Dragging myself to my feet, I slowly made my way around the clearing. Nothing stood out, only the few discarded arrows and a candy-bar wrapper, some spilt soup or the like, and of course, Donna. I sat down next to her, deciding it would be best to start again at her throat. I wasn't overly fond of human meat, but it was here, it was waiting, and it was all I had. I began to pick idly at her torn skin with my claws.

"Oh, _christ_!"

I jumped with a surprised bark, spinning and nearly tripping backwards over the corpse as I saw my intruder.

The girl.

She dropped the wood she'd been carrying, fumbling in her pocket before drawing out her pistol. I fell into a crouch, teeth bared.

"Y-you don't do that!" she squeaked, "You eat people food, okay? Christ, you don't eat Donna."

My snarl faltered. What?

"I've got uh, uh, here, look buddy…"

She sank slowly to her knees, pistol still aimed at me, and shrugged her backpack to the ground, digging through it quickly and pulling out a sheath of salted crackers. Winding up, she threw them across the clearing.

They landed only a few feet away and I sat still, thoroughly confused, until she motioned to them with her gun.

"Go get 'em, buddy. Leave Donna alone now…"

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, eyed the package, and shuffled awkwardly toward it.

"Good! Good! Now, I got some water-"

I leapt to my feet, stumbling toward her. I was tense, angry, excited. Why was she back? Why was she here in the first place? I reached out, eager to grab and pull and maybe rip and tear. What did she look like underneath? What did she smell like?

A shot blasted me back to reality.

She'd missed by a good foot or so, but it was enough to drop me back to my knees. She grabbed her backpack and ran, shaking, to the opposite edge of the clearing.

"No, none of that!" she yelled, sounding as though she were about to burst into tears. "Come on, I saved you, right? No attacking me. No."

I licked my lips, forcing my thoughts to coalesce. I wanted to kill her, of course. The bloodlust had surfaced again and now roiled at the forefront of my brain, begging to be listened to. But something told me not to. Was it the way she looked at me now? Big eyes, mouth drawn into a fierce scowl? Was it my curiosity? It had to be. I wanted to dissect her, know her, understand her. I'd never met a human who'd purposefully missed before, who'd helped me before. Why her? Why now? And most importantly, why me?

After a while of stillness from both parties, the girl relaxed just a tad. "See, look," she said, pulling back her shirt sleeve until a series of deep scratches came to light, "you got me good already, and I was just trying to help. I shouldn't have even bothered, you know that? Shouldn't have touched you. Any person with any touch of sanity wouldn't have. So like, try not to kill me, you know? It's not great, saving someone, ninety-nine percent because I was too much of a wuss to kill you, but I still saved you, and then having them try to kill you, right? Does that make sense? Do you understand a fucking word I'm saying?"

She began to cry for real this time, drawing her pistol up to paw at her eyes. I got the sense she cried a lot. She seemed extremely emotionally unstable, blubbering the way she was, and extremely lonely.

I curled my lips back into a sneer. What was she trying to prove to me?


End file.
